


A Gesture of Kindness

by lears_daughter



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/lears_daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Elizabeth Weir's death, Woolsey comes to Atlantis to deliver a letter. Episode tag to Lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gesture of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own _Stargate Atlantis_.

It was a sad fact that by the time Elizabeth Weir died, Atlantis was already quite accustomed to dealing with the premature deaths of its people. However, the death of their leader was not something for which the expedition had been prepared to cope, which was, ostensibly, why the IOA shipped Richard Woolsey to Atlantis to take care of certain logistical matters.

The IOA and SGC were still bickering about who to send to Atlantis to head up the expedition—Samantha Carter was currently the frontrunner—and in the meantime, command of the city had fallen to John Sheppard and Rodney McKay (though Richard had the sneaking suspicion that Teyla Emmagan was, in many ways, the woman behind the curtain).

Richard tended to find McKay grating, but fortunately the scientist was busy dealing with repairing Atlantis after the city's unfortunately necessary relocation and therefore Richard only had to see him at briefings. He found himself spending most of his time trying to track down Colonel Sheppard, who seemed to have given up sleeping in lieu of wandering the halls of Atlantis, sitting in the command chair while Drs. McKay and Zelenka ran simulations, checking on the city's various inhabitants, closeting himself away with Teyla, and sparring with the savage man called Ronon Dex.

It was on Richard's third day on Atlantis that he finally managed to corner Sheppard, in Weir's office of all places. (Well, if an accidental encounter could be considered cornering, which, given Sheppard's reaction, Richard thought it could.) Richard had been taking a breather there—away from the cold stares of the Marines, scientists, and Ronon, all of whom seemed to have made it their personal mission to show him that any bureaucratic interference in the running of the city was unwelcome—when Sheppard wandered, his head bowed over a report.

Richard cleared his throat. Sheppard's head jerked up and he stared at Richard in dismay, which quickly gave way to anger.

"Mr. Woolsey," Sheppard said, his voice sounding the way Richard imagined it had right before the man killed sixty Genii. "What are you doing here?"

"The IOA sent me."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. (The man might be an able pilot and gifted leader, but a consummate professional he was not.) "I know that. What are you doing in this office?"

Suddenly Richard understood why Sheppard seemed so annoyed. Flushing, he got out of Weir's chair, relieved when Sheppard's cold expression melted a bit.

"I was going over some files," Richard began, only to stop when Sheppard's eyebrows narrowed dangerously again. Richard sighed. "To be honest, I was hiding."

Sheppard's eyebrows went up. "Hiding?"

"From Ronon."

Sheppard's lips twitched. "Ah," he said.

"Actually, I've been meaning to speak with you. In fact, that's why I came to Atlantis in the first place."

Sheppard took two steps back, perhaps unconsciously. "I just remembered, I actually have—"

"Please, Colonel," Richard interrupted. "This is important."

Sheppard rubbed his forehead, his shoulders slumping. "What?"

Richard took a deep breath. "As you know, all members of the expedition were required to write a will before coming to Pegasus. Additionally, for those who requested it, a member of the IOA was appointed to be the executor of their will."

"Okay. And?"

"I am the executor of Dr. Weir's will."

If Richard had thought Sheppard was closed off before, that was nothing compared to the way he seemed to retreat now.

"I have work to do," Sheppard muttered, though he made no move to go.

"You are named in Dr. Weir's will."

Sheppard's hand clenched and unclenched at his side. "I know," he admitted heavily.

Feeling a flash of prurient interest, Richard said, "Colonel, were you and Dr. Weir in a relationship?"

Sheppard stared at him. Then he touched his ear and said, "Ronon, come in. I need you in Weir's office."

Richard paled. "Was that really necessary?"

"Was there something you actually wanted to tell me, Mr. Woolsey, or are you just here to dig up dirt on a dead woman?"

How had things gotten so out of hand? Not that they'd started out in hand in the first place—Richard was used to being despised everywhere he went because of his job, but the Atlantis expedition took things to a whole new level.

He straightened his spine. "I'm not here to dig up dirt on anyone, Colonel. I'm here because I have a letter for you from Dr. Weir. And because she requested in her will that you arrange her memorial service here on Atlantis. She also left it up to you what to do with her personal effects in the city."

Sheppard looked around the office, at the various knickknacks and souvenirs from different worlds and markets the expedition had visited. He closed his eyes and for just a moment Richard saw a glimpse of the man's terrible grief. Then he opened his eyes again and they expressed nothing but fatigue.

"You said you have a letter for me?" Sheppard drawled.

Richard opened his briefcase and removed the sealed envelope inside. "For John Sheppard in the event of my death," Weir had written across the front in blue ink. He held out the letter.

Sheppard didn't snatch it from his hand, as he'd expected, but took it reverently, as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever held.

"I am very sorry for your loss," Richard said, hoping the other man could hear the sincerity in his voice.

Sheppard nodded distractedly, unable to tear his eyes away from the letter. "Are you going to stay for the memorial?" he said.

Richard wanted to say yes. He'd respected Elizabeth Weir greatly, had felt her loss as the tragedy that it was. But he knew that his grief was an abstract thing, while for the people who lived here it was a still bleeding wound, one that would not heal with the IOA, as they imagined, breathing down their necks. He wanted to be here, but no one here wanted him.

"I'll be going back to the SGC tonight," he said briskly. "I'm going to be arranging the memorial on Earth."

"Okay. Thank you for—for bringing this." Sheppard held up the letter.

Richard had spent three weeks in transit from Earth to deliver that letter in person, because he'd liked Weir and because Sheppard had once led an unauthorized rescue mission from one galaxy to the other to rescue him. (Okay, Richard was fairly certain that on Sheppard's list of priorities for that mission the first had been Atlantis, the second had been rescuing General O'Neill, the third had been reuniting with Teyla and Ronon, the fourth had been flying a puddle jumper again, and the fifth had been rescuing Richard Woolsey, but still—he _had_ rescued Richard, and that was what mattered.) It was nice to know the gesture had been appreciated.

There was a knock on the door and Ronon poked his head in. He smiled at Richard, a smile with teeth. "I've been looking for you, Mr. Woolsey," he said. "There's something I want to show you in the sparring room."

Richard cleared his throat. "Actually, I—"

"I insist."

Richard shot Sheppard a helpless look, but Sheppard had wandered over to lean against the wall, running his thumb along the edge of the envelope, and didn't notice.

"Sheppard. You okay?" Ronon said.

"Hmm?" Sheppard said.

"You mind if I take Woolsey?"

Sheppard shook his head absentmindedly. "You two have fun."

As Richard followed Ronon out of the office, his steps dragging, he shot a last glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Sheppard slip his thumb under the seam to open the envelope.

* * *

 _Dear John,_

 _As a diplomat, I'm always expected to know the right thing to say. Yet, in writing this, I find myself struggling to find the right words._

 _When we agreed to name each other in our wills, I knew why I was doing it, but I can only guess at your reasons. I like to think that it was because you trusted me to look after your team should something happen to you, and because you feel the same friendship and, dare I say, love toward me that I do toward you._

 _Let there be no talk of blame. I am certain that whatever happened to me was not your fault. And, John—I know that it is against your nature, but let me go. If I disappeared, if there was no body—don't carry me with you as another scar like you do with Aiden, hoping to see me on every planet you visit. I don't want to be another weight on your soul._

 _My years on Atlantis have been the most rewarding of my life. Working with you—and Carson, Teyla, Ronon, Radek, Rodney, and so many others—has been an experience I could never forget or regret, no matter how it ended._

 _I do not have to hope that my death was a noble one, because for members of our expedition there are no ignoble deaths in Pegasus. I can think of no better way to die than in defense of my city._

 _On that note, I will say what we both already know: Atlantis is yours now, John, wholly yours. I don't know who will be chosen to replace me, but you can't rely on them to feel the same ties to our home as we do, and so you must be prepared to fight for the city against all comers, even those from Earth. It's a huge burden to put on anyone's shoulders—believe me, I know—but I have faith in you, my friend. You're at your best when faced with challenges that would break another person. And I am relieved to know that you will never have to fight alone._

 _I have no specific requests regarding the dispersal of my possessions. Do what you think is best—but then, you always do._

 _Goodbye, John. And good luck._

 _With eternal love and gratitude,_

 _Elizabeth Weir_


End file.
